


The True Lord

by Wildespeaks



Category: Harry Potter - Fandom
Genre: Because I can, F/M, I'm Sorry, Literally fucking up the entire seventh book, M/M, There will be snarks, and tents, and the like, but not really
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-12-05
Updated: 2013-12-04
Packaged: 2018-01-03 12:51:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,493
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1070659
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wildespeaks/pseuds/Wildespeaks
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dumbledore's secrets were many and far too great for anyone but the man himself to comprehend, Harry had guessed that, so when Hermione mentions a letter he's never even seen, Harry doesn't question it's sudden appearance. What he does question is the carbon copy of Tom Riddle standing in front of him, offering to help him off the floor.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

A Mother’s Love….

December 30th 1926 

“Mother…?” Wide, dark green eyes widen as a raven haired woman rushes about the room that they currently exist in. The woman barely seems to acknowledge the boy until he starts to move out from the closet, his pale, thin lips quivering ever so slightly as he notes the lack of attention. The woman still refuses to acknowledge him, but he catches the trails of tears that fall miserably towards earth upon the woman’s pale, gaunt face. The boy reaches out to touch her, to comfort her, and that’s when she takes into account his existence.

“No! No James, my darling, you must hide! Quickly!” The woman’s voice is distressed, laced with panic and urgency, though her tone is as soft as she can manage. The seven year old’s lips quiver once more before he nods and back away, into the dark closet and behind several dirty dress robes. The woman gives him a soft smile as he literally disappears from sight before shakily pulls a small vile filled with green liquid from inside her threadbare robe. With a sense of urgency in her step, the pale faced woman hurried to the closet and gave her son the small vile.

“Drink this, my boy….and—,“ her hand went back into her cloak, pulling out a small locket with a glittering ‘S’ the front of it, “Remember your heritage…remember who you are…and find this once more.” The young child nodded once to his mother before pulling the cork out of the vile with a small ‘pop’ and lifting it to his lips. Dark, emerald green eyes stare at the mother for a few moments, as if to take the image of her and sear it into his mind, before they close, shut tight against the rest of the world. The boy grimaces at the odor of the potion, but parts his lips and reluctantly drinks in the terrible liquid. 

“That’s my boy…my darling James….” A small, sad smile curves the mother’s lips before the boy begins to quiver. Another bout of tears escape the woman’s eyes as she watches her son’s body begin to glow and his limbs shake erratically. Suddenly, the boy’s body falls to the floor and he is as silent as the grave, looking almost like he was asleep; but the mother knew better. Sobs fell from between the mother’s lips before she began to settle her son’s limp body into some position of comfort. Then, after placing robes over his cold form and others under his raven-haired head, the mother rushed to the nearest dilapidated bookshelf and pulled a large tome from its ancient shelves. 

“You will know of our world when you wake, my son…..although you will have no memory of me….nor will you know him until it is your time to rise. This book will teach you…..” A small sigh escapes the mother’s lips before she tip-toes over to the boy’s still form, as if to try and not wake him, and settles down on her knees to place the large leather book in the closet. Then, after pulling her and her swollen belly up from the ground, the mother takes one last look at her first born son and then quietly closes the door to the closet…..

* * *

Present Day

“Harry, I swear, I’m not kidding! You need to take off that thing so that you can talk rationally! I swear, ever since you’ve taken your turn this morning you’ve been in a right foul mood!” Hermione Granger’s voice grew several octaves as the boy with the dark hair and green eyes glared at her moodily, his hand clutching at something on the end of the chain that resided around his neck. The red headed boy next to him seemed to hesitate before stretching out his hand, motioning to the other boy that he would take the burden for a while. The two males shared a knowing look before the darker headed boy took off the necklace and handed it to the fairer haired boy.

“There, it’s off! Now, tell me about this mysterious letter that Dumbledore SUPPOSSEDLY gave to me.” The boy’s eyes darkened considerably as he spoke of the former Headmaster’s name, resentment being the most highlighted emotion. Hermione huffed indignantly before she hastily turned away in search of her beaded bag. Then, after finding the important accessory, she turned back towards the boys and stalked back over to them.

“Accio Dumbledore’s letter!” The girl fiercely summoned the parcel, her wand pointing at the bag menacingly until the letter itself flew from the confines of the bag and into the boy’s hands.

“There you are, Harry! The letter from Dumbledore!” A self-satisfied smirk appeared on Hermione’s face while Harry, the darker haired boy, ignored her and stared amazed at the parchment. Dumbledore’s spidery script seemed to put the seventeen year old into some sort of trance as his eyes roamed the letter’s address. A sense of familiarity seemed to wash over him just enough that he could open the letter without his hands shaking uncontrollably. The red head scowled as Harry took his time, his eyes focusing intently on the letter as the necklace around his neck worked its magic upon him. 

“Oh hurry up!” The red head whined, a sneer appearing on his face and his arms crossing.

“Shut up, Ron!” Hermione snapped, her eyes flashing as she scolded him. Ron’s brow furrowed before he let it go, giving a huff in reply and defeat. Harry ignored both of them as he pulled the letter out, his hands now reverting to quivering as he tried desperately to read what Dumbledore had written. 

“Hermione…please, take it, I can’t read it.” Harry sullenly spoke, his head hanging low as he thrust the letter to Hermione. The lioness snatched up her prey and quickly began to read aloud what their beloved Headmaster had written before he died.

“Harry (and undoubtedly Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger),

It has come to my attention that I will be dying soon, as per my own wish. I would have died from the wound of trying to use the Pevrell ring while it was still a Horcrux most assuredly, had I not had power over Professor Snape. No doubt you, Harry, were wondering how he could do such a thing when I trusted him? 

My dear boy, I had asked Snape to grant me a quick death so that I might get him back into the inner circle of Voldemort’s Death Eaters and so that I would die a less painful death. I was alerted to Snape’s forming of an unbreakable vow with Narcissa Malfoy in hopes that her son would not have to work for the Dark Lord alone earlier in the year and it gave me great pains to ask such a deed of him. You see, if he were to break his vow, he would have surely died, and all of our carefully lain plans would be ruined. Therefore, I had him promise me that he would not let Draco kill me, but that he should do so, however unwilling he might be. That, my dear boy, is the first part of my explanation. I fear, however, that my time is running short and that I cannot give you more knowledge as of now. Rely greatly on Ms. Granger, Harry, and Mr. Weasley; they are your best chances at survival.

Now, onto the business at hand. An enormous amount of raw magic has appeared to have gathered in the town of Little Hangleton. You must go to Riddle Manor, which at this point has been abandoned by Lord Voldemort for obvious reasons, you knowing where it is and knowing of Voldemort’s past being a few of them. Also, my dear boy, bring the locket with you. By now you must have found it, as this letter has a charm upon it that will make the first person to see it only remember it when all of the charmer’s requirements have been met. The spell itself I tend to forget until I need it, which, I must say, is quite ironic in itself. 

Best wishes and good luck,

Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore”

The tent and all of its inhabitants became utterly still as they all gawked in disbelief at the paper in Hermione’s hands. Ron appeared to be the least dumbstruck of the trio, his own expression that of the experience of eating something sour. Harry seemed to be trapped in time, his hands no longer shaking and his entire body rigid with anticipation and hope. Hermione seemed to not believe that the paper was, in fact, tangible and currently began to run a list of spells through her head to try and test her theory. 

“Well…..are we going to go or what?!” Ron broke the silence impatiently, his want to know spurred on by the strange, glittering locket that hung on the chain around his neck. Harry and Hermione both seemed to snap to attention as Ron’s question seeming to have broken them both out of their reveries. 

“Ron! We’ll need to plan it all out! What if You-Know-Who is there and Dumbledore is wrong?! What if Dumbledore didn’t even write this let---?!” 

“He wrote it!” Harry cut Hermione off as she began to rant, a fierce look of determination and renewed hope shining in his lily green eyes. Their first lead on anything in months and Hermione was thinking about the authenticity of the letter? Harry scowled, his expression darkening enough to put the other two on edge as the severe lack of the locket made Harry’s anger seem more intense. Hermione sub-consciously gripped at her wand, her movement catching Harry’s eye and forcing him to realize what he’d done unthinkingly. 

“Sorry….it’s just….it kind of shows that Dumbledore cared enough to make sure we knew about Snape and about this mystery power in Little Hangleton at the Riddle Manor. I mean….we’ve been running around, trying to get at least somewhere with these riddles that he’s given us and---.” 

“Harry! Riddles! What if our going to Riddle Manor will help solve the riddles?!” Hermione’s eyes widened in excitement, her hands balled into loose fists as her mouth grew slack and her hazel gaze glazed over. 

“Hermione……Hermione….’Mione? She’s gone off again in that head of hers.” Ron said as he waved a hand in front of the brunette’s face, trying to grab her attention. As if on cue, Hermione suddenly started and set herself into action. Spells began to fly everywhere as she assembled the essentials to draw out schematics of a plan to enter Little Hangleton. Both Harry and Ron sighed, giving each other one last glance of pity before they gathered about and listened to all that their friend had to say….

* * *

A Week Later

A blonde man stood, shrouded in the shadows of the a large tombstone labeled “Tom Riddle Sr.”, his black wool coat scratching against the surface of the bricks as he leaned his shoulder upon it. Shifting slightly, the man’s scarf loosened from its position, a gleaming locket with the letter S engraved on it suddenly appearing from beneath it. The man appeared not to notice until the locket suddenly jerked viciously at his neck, pulling him forward, his feet sliding on the frozen earth. A yelp flew past his lips as he was pulled up the hill, towards the manor so quickly the blonde couldn’t think fast enough. Panic set in, his bright eyes widening to the size of saucers before his gloved hand reached into his pocket and grasped a long wooden stick.

“Disapparate!” The man yelled, pointing the stick at himself. A loud crack filled the air and suddenly the man was gone, his scarf falling to the ground slowly. Seconds passed before the door to the manor opened and a dark figure appeared in the doorway. The figure seemed to hesitate before leaning down, long dark black hair shrouding its face from view as it lifted a pale hand. Long fingers stretched out, as if to pick up the scarf, the being hesitating slightly before reaching down to try and grasp at it.

“NO! Do not touch it! Leave it where it is! They will know!” A voice hissed, startling the being, causing it to rush back into the house, shutting the front door with a loud slam.

* * *

Present Day – Two Days Later

Winters in Little Hangleton seemed awfully spiting and, even though it wasn’t quite winter yet, the two blonde haired civilians standing outside Riddle Manor seemed to be shaking quite thoroughly. One of them, the shorter of the two, pulled a long, thin stick out from her jacket pocket. Her mouth moved quickly, her mutterings something of a strange Latin-like phrase, before both of them ceased their quivering and the female replaced the stick to its former position. Minutes flew by and the wind began to pick up, but the couple stayed standing in front of the Manor, as if waiting for it to get up and walk off. It seemed like ages, but soon a red-headed man slowly made his way towards them from up the lane. 

“Lovely weather we’re having?” The redhead questioned as he soon came upon the others and stood to the left of the woman. The male blonde grinned slightly before regaining his composure and nodding towards the Manor.

“That be the house then, Barry?” The blonde questioned the other man, his bright green eyes connecting with ‘Barry’s’ hazel ones. 

“That’d be it there, Tom.” Barry smirked as he spoke, an eyebrow raised in satisfaction as ‘Tom’ glared playfully at Barry and the girl gave a small snort.

“Oi, you alright there Sarah?” Tom asked the girl, nudging her playfully and earning him a small punch from her gloved hand.

“Stop playing around you two….we need to get in and get out before You-Know-Who figures he’d stop by to gloat about killing his family.” The two men sobered up as Sarah spoke, her scolding ability not diminishing in this strange form.

“Alright, alright! We’ll just walk in, look around, see what all the huff is about, and then get out of here before Mr. Holier-than-thou comes around to have a laugh!” Tom said, another grin stretching across his face and earning another small punch from Sarah.

“Let’s go, then!” Barry stated, his legs already moving as he began his way up the walk to Riddle Manor. Tom and Sarah trudged behind, their hands inside their pockets, gripping the thin pieces of wood that would be their only hopes against enemies. 

After a few minutes of walking they stood in front of the large doorway into Riddle Manor, Sarah once again having to whip out her wand and say a very quiet ‘Alohamora’ before the door unlocked and they quietly began to file inside. 

“Whoaaah.” Tom’s voice, louder than usual in the silence of the manor, broke the calm countenance of the three new inhabitants. Barry shut the door quickly and as quietly as possible, his hand reaching into his coat pocket and pulling out a stick not unlike the ones both Sara and Tom were carrying. Tom muttered a quick ‘Lumos’ which lit up the tip of his stick, allowing him to shed light on the area, the other two following suit only seconds later. 

“Sarah, what should we look for?” Tom questioned in a loud whisper, wincing slightly as his voice carried about the entryway.

“We should be able to feel a fluctuation in our magic wherever the raw power is. It will probably make our ‘Lumos’ spell much brighter.” Sarah answered her voice a much lower whisper than Tom’s.

“Like ‘Lumos Maxima’?” Barry questioned, his eyebrow rising in question.

“Most likely; now, set about searching the rooms and make sure to be on the lookout for anything suspicious. We have no idea what’s lurking around here and what You-Know-Who might’ve done to protect this place. We also have no idea why he couldn’t feel the raw power, or if he hasn’t already found it, so we need to get in and out as fast as possible.” Sarah spoke with authority, leaving no room to question her plan.

“Alright….we should split up. I’ll take the bottom floor, Tom, you take the second, and Sarah, you take the library.” Each nodded as Barry spoke before they took off in different directions, Tom and Sarah heading straight ahead to the staircase, stopping as soon as they were at the top.

“You know, it’s not fair that you get to take the library. You love books.” Tom grinned at Sarah.

“I’m the only one that apparently reads between the three of us, so naturally I’d take the library.” Sarah glared playfully at Tom, earning a return glare from him.

“I thought we wanted to leave quickly anyway. Knowing you we’d be here for days while you stuck your nose in every book—Ow!” Tom was cut off from a punch to his shoulder, which was executed by none other than Sarah.

“Will you just go search the floor!” Sarah huffed, smirking at him as he wandered off, still rubbing his arm and muttering about ‘crazy girls who like to punch people’ while Sarah turned the opposite direction and made her way towards two large maple doors.

* * *

Barry had been looking through every drawer, crack in the wall, and cupboard that he could find, looking for maybe some sort of clue while also keeping a watchful eye on his wand. He knew a ‘lumos maxima’ would cause the whole room to light up, but he wanted to make sure it didn’t do exactly the opposite. Sarah had told them before they’d arrived that she wasn’t exactly sure what a fluctuation of magic would be like, so he wanted to make sure he knew exactly when the light might be extinguished.

A sigh fell from his lips as he paused halfway down a hallway, his body suddenly tired and his mind drowsy with exhaustion. Blinking rapidly to keep himself awake, Barry hadn’t even noticed the presence beside him until he was falling towards it, his wand lighting the whole hallway up for a few seconds long enough to see the pale man with dark, emerald green eyes moving forward to catch him. The light failed as soon as he felt his consciousness slip, his mind reeling over the sudden pain his forehead was emitting, before all of it was gone.

* * *

“Harry Potter?” The light voice that pulled him out of the darkness and back to the present was unfamiliar, but not entirely unpleasant. He had had a dream that Voldemort was standing next to him, but that it wasn’t him in snake form; in fact, Harry couldn’t even be sure it was him. Harry blinked rapidly, trying to clear the dots from his eyesight as everything began to focus. A bright light was shining all around them, as if someone had turned on the electricity in the house and each bulb was a floodlight.

Groaning, Harry sat up, with the help of a strong, guiding hand on his back. Everything was still too blurry for him to recognize, but he could easily make out the figure next to him, helping him to sit up. Agitated by his lack of memory, Harry rubbed his eyes in an attempt to both clear them up and to massage some sort of recognition of his situation back into his brain. 

“I should really go find your friends.” The figure, now easily identified as a man, caused Harry to start and turn to face him, his movements too hasty for his ‘just woken up’ state. 

“Who—who—who are you? Why are you here?” Harry questioned, his voice’s usual calm leaving him as his current situation became clearer while his brain reviewed recent memories. He was searching for a power flux with Ron and Hermione in the Riddle Manor, but they’d disguised themselves as people from the village and had gone by different names. A spark of fear flew up Harry’s spine, causing his hand to immediately go for his wand.

“How do you know who I am?!” Harry questioned, his green eyes focusing more and perceiving the outline of the pale being before him. Green eyes, darker than Harry’s, stared back at him from behind recently cut black bangs. The face of the man, presumably so by his body type, voice, and five o’clock shadow, was that of someone who could be in their late twenties and seemed oddly familiar. The clothes he wore were that of a man who stepped into a time machine and went back to nineteen-forties Great Britain, his shoes even seemingly from the time period. 

“Calm yourself, Harry; I’m not here to hurt you.” Something in the man’s voice made him shudder; the likeness to another’s making him react strangely. Panic rose in Harry, despite the words the man had spoken, and Harry pushed himself away further until his back was against the wall. The man, who had yet to reveal his name and his purpose in the Manor, held his hands up in a placating way, revealing to the younger man that he did indeed, have a wand. Harry’s grip tightened on his wand instinctively and the urge to say a few defensive spells rose in him, but he pushed that away, against his better judgment and swallowed nervously.

“So, if you’re not here to hurt me, then why don’t you introduce yourself and tell me why you’re here?” Harry tried for civility, his eyes once again boring straight into the other man’s while he slowly lifted the tip of his wand as a back-up.

“Yes, tell us who you are and maybe we wont obliviate your mind!” Hermione’s voice seemed distressed as she suddenly appeared out of the corner of Harry’s vision, Ron’s visage soon following as he rounded the corner, the locket of Slytherin gleaming notoriously from around his neck.


	2. Chapter II

“You would do well not to obliviate me, Miss Granger.” The man spoke, his voice lowering at the hint of threat, his green eyes flashing as he slowly turned his head enough for Hermione to see his full face. Hermione’s eyes widened and she stepped back, into the wall, her hand holding her wand directing itself at him more steadily. Ron instinctively stepped slightly in front of her, his eyebrows furrowing and his body tensing, wand at the ready in his hand.

“Miss Granger?” The man questioned, his eyebrow rising in question at her actions before realization seemed to dawn on his face and a soft ‘oh’ fell from his lips. A sigh huffed from his lungs, his green eyes closing momentarily, his face relaxing as he slowly turned his body towards Hermione, his posture non-threatening, his hands held up in the air in a placating position.

“Miss Granger, I know who you believe I am.” He spoke, his voice soft, his eyes trained on her as he moved his hand with the wand. Hermione jerked, her reflexes telling her to stun him, but he halted his movements and she restrained herself, her eyes still wide in recognition. He paused, contemplating her for several seconds before he gave her a small nod.

“I’m going to put my wand down, now.” He informed her, his eyes never leaving her as he once again moved to slowly put his wand on the ground. The tension that had hung heavily in the air seconds earlier seemed to lessen slightly as the weapon was relieved of its master and Hermione’s stance relaxed a little, though she was still prepared to fire a stunning spell at him at any moment.

“Who are you?” Hermione questioned, her eyes watching his hands warily for several seconds before her gaze was set into his. The green of his eyes seemed to swirl before her, like a snake would when it coiled itself around its victim.

“My name is James Voltaire Riddle.” All three flinched at the last name, as if someone has spoken of ‘You-Know-Who’ himself, and all of them quickly raised their wands at the newly discovered Riddle. 

“Tom Riddle has no other relatives!” Harry quickly spat at him, anger flashing in the green eyes of the young teen, before he jerked his head sideways and a strange look passed over him. Riddle quickly threw himself away from Harry as the dark haired boy shouted a spell that eerily sounded like ‘Avada Kedavra’. Hermione quickly shouted a ‘Protego’, casting it in front of Riddle as he sat up, his robes slightly singed by the force of the spell. 

“Harry! Control yourself!” Hermione shouted, but Harry scrambled to his feet, raising his wand at Riddle in order to cast a spell again. 

“Harry, please! You must believe me!” Parseltongue flew from the man’s mouth unbidden and, for a brief moment, Harry seemed to stop, stooping over Riddle like a dementor would before going in for the kiss. Seconds passed and then a strange look came over Harry, his eyes growing darker, and his skin paling. 

“Avada Kedav--!” The hiss that passed Harry’s lips was inhuman and clearly not Harry Potter, which forced both Ron and Hermione into a passive state. Riddle’s body language shifted, no longer appearing helpless as his brow furrowed and his hand was thrust out towards Ron, who had been standing stock still at the sound of Harry’s voice, and made a motion with his hand that caused the locket shoot towards him, off its chain. Riddle caught the locket in his hand just as the last words of the spell were cast.

A loud boom erupted from the touch of the spell and the locket opened to reveal a translucent green shield, which had taken the liberty of surrounding the whole of Riddle. Harry was thrown back against the wall; a wail of unnatural proportions flying from his throat, his eyes wide and his pupils becoming unreasonably small. 

“Tom, leave him alone!” Riddle cried out before darkness shrouded all of them.

* * *

“Harry?” The voice, the strange and elegant voice, which spoke to him, was slightly familiar, as if he had just heard it recently. Harry rose from the ground, dust from what used to be the walls falling from his hair as he moved, his glasses coated in it. The man from before was bent over in front of him, his pale hand outstretched towards Harry as he squatted, the locket dangling from around his neck. Harry grabbed the man’s hand, letting Riddle pull him up from the floor, duly noting that both Ron and Hermione were both standing up and brushing themselves off.

“What happened?” Harry questioned, his eyes never leaving the locket hanging around Riddle’s neck, his brow furrowing in wonder at how it had come into the other man’s possession. Riddle seemed to notice and a small sad smile grew upon his face, his pale features seeming to fall into an even darker shadow.

“The locket that your friend was wearing, it is a family heirloom.” Harry stared at Riddle as the man spoke, their gazes meeting once again.

“It reacted as it should have. It protected the family line and it also stopped itself from being destroyed. It is, after all, a Horcrux.” Riddle’s gaze was direct as he spoke to all three of him, his line of sight directed at Hermione, who looked as if she was digesting the information quicker than the other two. Minutes passed before Hermione’s mind seemed to connect all the dots and her gaze found Riddle’s. 

“You’re the first son then?” Hermione questioned, her brow furrowing as he nodded, both of them coming to an understanding.

“I’m sorry, could someone please fill me in as to why this man is wearing the locket, he says his last name is Riddle, and he looks like the younger dark lord?!” Harry felt a sudden urgency hit him, as if he needed to know the information right then. Harry’s breath began to come quickly, as if he was having a panic attack, and he backed into the wall again. Riddle held up a hand, as if to placate the teen, but Harry flinched and Ron quickly raced forward to stun the man. Hermione, exasperated by her friends quickly shouted a ‘Protego’, protecting Riddle once again from her friends. 

“Hermione, what are you doing?!” Harry cried, indignant at the actions of his friend whom, he believed, had temporarily lost all sense. Hermione rounded on him, her wand pointed straight at him.

“Don’t make me body bind you, Harry!” She called, her voice no longer the playful tones of earlier. They had found the source of the raw magic and she wasn’t about to let it get destroyed, especially since Dumbledore had sent them after it.

“Hermione, he’s the brother to my parent’s murderer--!” Harry started.

“And he has yet to do anything of the sort that would make him resemble Tom Riddle in any way! You, however, Harry, haven’t been much of yourself in this situation!” Hermione’s anger faded away at the ashamed look on Harry’s face, knowing that she had struck a nerve in him. Ron placed a hand on her shoulder, a sign that she shouldn’t press the matter too much right now; not in this situation and not in front of Riddle. Harry stood there quietly, unmoving from his position, his hand with the wand not rising. Riddle took this as his cue to continue, though he warily watched both Harry and Ron, making sure that he could possibly dive out of the way of a spell.

“So….you are a son of Tom Riddle Senior and Merope Gaunt?” Hermione’s voice was steady as she questioned him, her eyes fixed upon him and Harry, making sure no other strange outbursts were going to happen.

“Yes. I am the first son of Tom Riddle Senior and Merope Gaunt.” Riddle spoke without the condescending tone that his brother usually bore, but he still held venom in his voice when he spoke the name Tom Riddle.

“My brother believes he is the only heir to Salazar Slytherin’s bloodline, mainly because he does not know of my existence.” Riddle continued, his eyes never wavering from the form that was Harry Potter.

“How did he not find you when he used this place as his hide-out a few years ago?” Hermione’s voice wafted to Riddle’s ears, causing him to turn his gaze her way.

“My mother stole a potion a long time ago, during the time she was feeding my…father, his love potion. She was pregnant with my brother and was soon to be thrown out once she stopped my father’s daily doses. She had stolen a potion from some wizard or another that trapped me in time. I do not know the particulars of it, but I do know that I have yet to age a day over twenty.” As he spoke, Hermione’s eyes widened to the point of nearly bulging out of her head. She had never heard all of the story of Tom Riddle and how he had become He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, but she had thought that Merope Gaunt had been a squib.

“My mother was a squib, Miss Granger, but she was a crafty woman. She was not mentally incompetent like the rest believed she was. She was, in fact, a high functioning woman who was cast out of magical society because of her lack of prowess in magic.” Riddle spoke as if he’d heard the thoughts from her head and for a moment all three of the Golden Trio were tense and at the ready for any move he might make.

“Yes, I am also a legilimens. I apologize for not informing you of this before, but I did not have much of a chance to speak.” Riddle sighed; bringing a hand to his forehead to tenderly touch what none of them had noticed was a severely bleeding cut. Harry jerked forward, as if to either help or attack, he didn’t appear to know, and stopped himself midway through. Riddle stood his ground, but found himself without his wand in his hand, seemingly not convinced that the locket would do its job a second time.

“Accio wand,” Hermione caught Riddle’s wand as it zoomed towards her, then proceeded to cautiously walk over to him, the hand with his wand in it outstretched. Slowly, Riddle reached out to her and grasped the wand, slowly removing his hand from hers so that he wouldn’t startle the boys. With that finished, Hermione backed a few steps away, her fear of him having greatly diminished since earlier.

“We need to talk somewhere else.” Hermione spoke, her wariness now set on the manor itself, instead of Riddle. The other two nodded and they all three moved together, connecting their hands, Harry’s reluctantly reaching out towards Riddle’s. Riddle took his hand, but quickly jerked away at the feeling that ran through him and the image his mind conjured up. Harry looked at him, paler than a sheet, before the sound of someone apparating outside of the Manor began to resound.

“Oh…Crickey.” Ron’s face grew pale, but before any of them could see who had just entered the doors of the Manor, Hermione grabbed Riddle’s hand with her free one and disapperated.

* * *

“You disapperated us right into our tent, Hermione!” Ron cried out, anger at having taken Riddle right to their hideout making his voice rise and his usually pale face scarlet with fury.

“Ron, settle down! If You-Know-Who got to him, do you have any idea what kind of ally he would be to him?! He won’t die because of Harry’s destroying Horcruxes!” Hermione and Ron’s row began to grow louder by the second as both Harry and Riddle stood by, one watching with vague amusement, and the other suspiciously contemplating the other. Harry, being the more suspicious of the two, eyed Riddle with distrust, while Riddle watched Hermione and Ron with something akin to a small smile on his face.

“What’s so funny, Riddle?” Harry’s voice was low, like he usually spoke when he had the odd conversation with the Dark Lord. Riddle’s attention turned to him, his dark green eyes reflecting his annoyance with Harry as he did so.

“You know, Dumbledore said you would be obstinate and mistrusting, but I didn’t believe him. Not after meeting your uncle. He was a much easier fellow to get along with.” Riddle snarked at him, taking Harry aback not only with the news of Dumbledore having met Riddle, but the use of the words ‘your uncle’. 

“What do you mean, Harry’s uncle? Harry’s not got any family left.” Ron spoke up, Hermione hitting him in response to his insensitive questions. 

“Shut up, Ron!” Hermione hissed at the look on Harry’s face, as if he was once again reminded that he was alone. Harry shook it off, his gaze once again finding that of Riddle’s.

“My uncle?” Harry questioned, his eyes slightly hopeful as his gaze met the older wizard’s.

“Yes Harry, your uncle,” Riddle’s tone became less annoyed and softened, his body relaxing slightly as he no longer seemed to be in immediate danger, “His name is Michael Evans, he was your Grandmother’s first son.” 

“Evans?” Hermione piped in, her eyes wide at this new information.

“Yes, Evans. He was the youngest out of all three children and was pronounced dead at his birth.” Riddle’s body seemed to slump as he spoke, as if he were saddened by the idea of it.

“How do you know this?” It was Ron’s turn to speak up, “You said you only met him!”

“Yes, Mr. Weasley, I met him, but I have kept correspondence with him for a while. It was a few months before Dumbledore’s death that we met and it was when Dumbledore had learned of a clue to my existence.” Riddle’s voice wavered slightly at the mention of Dumbledore’s death, but he continued on.

“I know that this information is probably a shock to you….” Riddle trailed off, his voice catching in his throat as a strange feeling of dread overcame him. His eyes met Harry’s as the crack of someone apparating resounded throughout the forest. 

“Run.” Harry said as they charged out of the tent, wands at the ready, only to stop right outside its folds at the sight of a tall man holding the sword of Gryffindor.

“James, do you know how hard it is to fight off the Dark Lord just to deliver a damn sword?” The man’s deep Irish accent, along with his shark-like grin, caused Riddle to lower his wand immediately and fully walk out of the tent. A similar grin, though less like a shark’s, made its way onto Riddle’s face as he stepped towards the man.

“Michael, I was just telling your nephew about your existence.” Riddle’s tone and demeanor changed, his wand no longer in his hand, but in the small slot up his sleeve that he apparently kept it in. The other man moved forward, his free hand extended, shaking the hand that Riddle proffered him. Their hands clasped and Michael pulled Riddle forward into a sort of hug, Riddle stumbling, but laughing at the other man’s actions. A cough from Harry caused them to separate quickly, Riddle turning slightly towards the group so that he could easily speak to both the Trio and Michael.

“Evans, this is your Nephew, Harry Potter.” Riddle spoke, motioning towards the boy with the lightening bolt scar and the jet black hair. 

“Harry?” Evans grin grew as he stuck the sword of Gryffindor into the ground and walked forward to get a better look at his nephew.

“You’re my uncle, then?” Harry eyed him suspiciously, something he’d been doing since the war started, before taking the proffered hand and shaking it.

“Aye lad, I’m your uncle.” Evans spoke, his grin shifting sideways while he shook the younger man’s hand. 

“And just how are you Harry’s uncle?” Hermione chimed in, her arms crossed, “And how did you get through my protective charms? And how did you find us here? And how did you get the Sword of Gryffindor? And how did you—“

“Please, please, Miss Granger, one question at a time.” Evans spoke, his hand disconnecting from Harry’s and lifting up with the other to make an ‘I surrender’ motion with his hands.

“I’ll tell you, but let’s go inside and talk. It’s quite chilly, even with these robes on.” With that, Evans turned about and pulled the sword from the ground. Hermione nodded before grabbing Ron’s hand and pulling him in, Harry waiting for Riddle to go in first, with Evans trailing behind him. Harry pulled the flap of the tent shut, making due note of his ways of escape just before letting the canvas fall into place.

* * *

All five of the tent’s occupants stood awkwardly about the room, all of them looking towards the blonde man who had just recently shown up, before he seemingly couldn’t take it anymore and pulled his wand out from his pocket. The other man beside him made to step in front of him as the three younger inhabitants made for their wands, being on the run having made them distrust anyone new. The blonde man raised an eyebrow at the actions of the other four, before rolling his eyes and muttering a few words, conjuring up five chairs for all of the inhabitants to sit in.

“Really, Evans.” Riddle scoffed as he sat in his chair, duly noting that it was a dark green, plush chair with silver lining and embroidery. Evans’s lip quirked in a sideways smile, but sat down in his chair, which was a deep green as well, though it lacked the silver embroidery that Riddle’s had. Harry, Ron, and Hermione sat in their own Gryffindor-esque chairs, their postures still stiff, like they were tensed and ready for a fight.

“Will you relax if I ask you nicely?” Evans sideways grin grew, his blue eyes twinkling with mirth, much like Albus Dumbledore’s had when he was up to something. A strange sense of ease filled the Trio, allowing them to slump exhaustedly in their chairs. 

“Now, before I start answering your questions Miss Granger, I wonder, would anyone like a spot of tea. I know this lovely blend—.” 

“Do get on with it, Evans.” Riddle interjected, his eyes glaring at Michael through half-lidded eyelids. Evans’s grin grew before he reached towards Riddle, his hand covering the other man’s for a second.

“Get some rest, James. You’re looking relatively pale.” Michael’s voice lowered a few octaves and his eyes turned from mirthful to worried before he returned his attention to the Trio and any playful or tender emotion was gone. A few seconds passed before the soft, even breathing of Riddle was the loudest sound in the tent. Michael sat forward in his chair, his elbows on the armrests and his fingers forming a triangular shape as he did so.

“Now, I will answer all of your questions.” Michael spoke, his once lighter tone turning serious.

“Firstly, Miss Granger, you questioned how I made it through your wards. Your question at first confused me, because I had always been denied entrance to any encampment you three had made because of your wards. I had no way of finding you, no way of contacting you, and no way of helping you to believe me when I was to say that I am Harry’s presumably deceased uncle.” Evans paused, letting the information that he had been actually following them, trying to get to them, over the months sink in.

“Today, when I appeared at Riddle Manor, so did the Dark Lord. I only had seconds to read Riddle’s mind, who had easily read yours, Miss Granger, and find out where your next stop was. From there, I followed you, hoping to land just outside your wards and hopefully be able to contact James from the outside. Imagine my surprise when I realized that none of you, even you Miss Granger, had set up your usual wards.” At this mention, Hermione paled considerably and started up from her chair, but Michael held a placating hand up and she slowly sat back down.

“Don’t fret; I’ve taken the liberty of setting them up for you. I’ve known them by heart for quite some time now.” Hermione visibly relaxed at the knowledge that at least there were wards up.

“Right, I believe that at least answers two of your four questions you manage to get out. On to the next one; what was it? How am I Harry’s uncle?” Hermione nodded and the boys leaned in to hear more, Harry especially as his gaze once again became that of hopeful.

“As Riddle, I believe, explained, I was presumed dead at infancy. However, this was clearly not the case. I was taken from the hospital by someone you have all trusted, someone who to you, Harry, would have been a father figure.” Michael explained, his brow furrowing slightly in what was presumed a slight bit of resentment.

“I was never allowed to meet Lily Evans, my older sister, or your Aunt Petunia, but I was taken care of. Dumbledore took care of me like I was his own son, but not even I was truly privileged. Albus took me under his wing and tutored me, leaving me to take up where he left off and help you, Harry.” The hopeful look in Harry’s eyes grew and Michael’s serious expression softened.

“I have been one of the many secrets of Albus Dumbledore. James has also been one, as you now have figured out.” At the mention of his name Riddle made an ‘hmmm’ sound, at which the combined gaze of the whole room turned to him.

“Now, onto how I have received the Sword of Gryffindor…” Michael trailed off as he watched James, his brow furrowing at the sight of the locket.

“James.” He called, his voice grave as he stared directly at the letter ‘S’ on the locket.

“Hmmm?” Riddle woke up from his light nap to see the entire room of people was staring directly at him.

“What is it Michael?” He questioned groggily as he shifted his weight so that he was sitting up more.

“Take off the locket, James.” Evans’s voice was dark, his blue eyes boring into the locket, as if trying to destroy it with his gaze.

“Michael?” James questioned, his mind not quite awake.

“Take it off!” Michael yelled, pulling the sword of Gryffindor up with him as he stood abruptly. James threw himself backwards, knocking over the chair, as the Trio sat in shock. Michael pointed the sword at the locket, his glare directed only at the object around Riddle’s neck, not the man himself. Quickly, James’s brain set into action, his hands going for the locket, trying to pry it off of him. The struggle was futile, as the locket clung to him with its chain and pressed so hard into his robes that a sickening crack was heard throughout the tent. A scream flew from Riddle’s throat as he felt one of his ribs give way to the pressure of the locket, while the others looked on in terror.

“Point the sword away from him!” Hermione cried, her eyes wide with fear as all three of the younger wizards rushed forward to help. Harry pulled the sword from his uncle’s frozen hands, leaving the man shell-shocked as he stared at Riddle, who was writhing in pain. Ron set to work trying to pry the locket off of Riddle at the absence of the sword, but his hands were singed terribly. 

“Mr. Evans, pull yourself together!” Hermione yelled at him, pulling out her wand to try and repair Riddle’s ribs. Michael, after several seconds of staring at his friend, who had stopped crying out in pain, fell to his knees and pulled out his wand, muttering several spells to help Hermione fix Riddle’s ribs. Minutes passed as they worked, until at last Riddle’s pale face gained back some color and his breathing once more became regular.

“James…” Michael’s voice broke, his eyes pleading with the others in askance for forgiveness. Riddle gave him a small smile, allowing the other man to help him sit up, then to help him into his chair, which Harry had set upright. 

“Forgive me, my friend.” Michael, who now was on his knees in front of Riddle’s chair, asked.

“There is nothing to forgive; you were just doing what it was that Dumbledore trained you to do ever since we learned of Tom’s interest in Horcruxes. You were trying to destroy another one.” Riddle smiled weakly, patting his friend’s hand before looking up to see the astonished faces of the Trio. Michael dropped his head slightly, bowing in shame, before he stood up and turned to his chair, dropping into it like a sac of gnomes that was ready to be tossed out of the garden.

“Wait a second….you’re hunting Horcruxes?” Was all Harry managed to get out before an alarm began to echo loudly through the forest. 

“How—?” Hermione questioned, looking to Michael whose eyes grew wide.

“He must have….but how? No….not that…” Michael’s gaze turned to Harry, but his attention turned to that of the sound of the wards around them cracking under fire. Someone was trying to break in.

“Quickly! Gather up all that you need so we can get out of here!” Michael yelled as he grabbed James’s hand and pulled him up, hoisting the other man over his shoulder just enough that he could help him walk out of the tent. The Trio followed, rushing outside only to hear the crack of the wards breaking. It was a matter of seconds, but a pain rushed through Harry before a hand grasped his robes and they disapperated.


	3. Chapter III

Tom Marvolo Riddle Jr. had not had a brother when he was younger. He had not. It was a finality of that fact that had been both lonely and comforting. He had only his father left, the muggle who had been given a Love Potion by his mother, and the man had left him for another family and let him rot in an orphanage. He could hardly blame the muggle, but the abandonment of his father, no matter how unknowingly, had scarred him further than he dare to admit, and so he had killed the man. Killed Tom Riddle Sr. and his grandparents along with him; irreparably breaking his soul into pieces so that he could create his first Horcrux and make his first step on becoming immortal. He had no other family.

He had no brother.

So why did he feel the pull of affection towards the man he’d seen through Potter’s eyes? Why did he have the urge to protect him, to know him, to learn from him? It was so strange, so foreign, and he wanted it to leave him at once. So he tried to do what he did with the rest of his family; with the rest of the people who had chosen to not care about him. He tried to kill him.

“AVADA KEDAVRA!” Voldemort, not Tom, had yelled, and he had spoken in a mix of his and Potter’s voice. Voldemort, the cold and calculating murderer and Dark Lord, had reacted, and tried to kill the only family Tom had left. Voldemort would not feel remorse, he would not piece back together his soul, and so James Voltaire Riddle had to die. So when the locket had flown to James and decimated the curse he’d sent hurtling towards the man through Potter’s wand, a war erupted within Lord Voldemort between himself and Tom Riddle. In his rage, he’d thrown Harry to the wall, lashing out as the whirlwind inside him caused him physical and emotional pain. 

“Tom, leave him alone!” Were the last words Voldemort could stand to hear before an inhuman cry flew from his throat and Tom Riddle prevailed upon him, tearing him to shreds inside and out, morphing him from the snake-like state that he had been borne into life in and renewing that of his former self. Rage filled him, his followers that had all surrounded him cowering as he gripped his wand tightly and screamed, fiendfyre flying from the tip of his wand and spreading throughout the room, only his inner circle being protected from his rage by a quick spell from Severus. His red eyes flashed, his rage quelling as he calmed himself, his homicidal intent lessening as he felt his visage reconfigure, the snake-like form that he’d retained returning as his soul split again and again. He could feel it breaking, feel each snap, and he felt it grow icy cold with a grim satisfaction he had not known since earlier in the week when he’d watched a few of Potter’s supporters writhe in pain. All that had seen him return, all that had seen Tom Riddle, had to perish. All but the select few who had known him, who had seen him before his turn into the monstrous snake that he was, had burned.

Lord Voldemort had returned, quieting Tom Riddle for the moment, and he had come back full force. He felt his power surge as fiendfyre abruptly stopped, his power quelling the spell like one would a neck to the hangman’s noose. He then turned towards his inner circle, his robes a blur of black around him, as a smile began to form on his face; that is, if Lord Voldemort smiled. His jagged teeth clenched as his eyes glowed and he felt a chill run up his spine, a thrill running through him as he stared directly into Severus Snape’s eyes. ‘Riddle Manor’ was all he needed to convey to the man, before his robes began to swirl, turning gaseous as he seemed to evaporate before his follower’s very eyes. 

The last he saw of his inner circle was the whirling of Snape’s form, more than likely to inform the other’s of where their target destination was, before he stood outside the house he’d vacated after being brought back to life. With a great gale of wind, the Dark Lord threw open the doors like a hurricane, destroying the renewed entryway as he did so. His eyes met that of a tall, blonde man’s, who had the sword of Gryffindor hanging from his belt. Fear gripped Voldemort and he attacked wordlessly, his red eyes widening as his brow furrowed. The blonde man pulled a wand from his sleeve, blocking his attack without the utterance of a spell before the crack of his disapperation resounded throughout the Manor. Several more cracks were heard, each echoing as his inner circle appeared around him, apparating in the formation of a crescent moon. His posture stiffened, his hands clenching in fists, his wand bending slightly in his hand. He had missed them by minutes, if not seconds, and he had barely seen the image of where the blonde man was heading. Riddle stirred within him, the child-like hope inside of him that his brother was alive and would join him quashed instantaneously as he rounded on his Death Eaters. 

“Return to Malfoy Manor,” His voice, which had been soft and commanding, had regained some timber of his youth, and his lips quirked at the reaction that it elicited from his inner circle. Severus remained impassive, as usual, but several of the weaker minded, like Lucius, seemed to startle. So, Tom Riddle was even more frightening than Lord Voldemort? His red eyes grew wide with this new information before he turned from them, his entire body swirling in the black smoke of his robes as he slowly faded into non-existence. He had all but disappeared when he heard the crack of each of his followers disapperating back to their base and he appeared in the middle of the woods.

* * *

“—Arry! Harry! God, Harry, no! Wake up, boy! Please!” Harry was distinctly reminded that this was the second time he’d passed out in the day, or at least, it was the second time he’d remembered that he’d done so. He woke up to the sight of Hermione, Ron, Riddle, and Michael, all doing various activities, surrounding him. Michael was on his knees, leaning over Harry like a worried parent (or Uncle, if Harry could ever imagine it, as Vernon Dursley was not a very good example), James Riddle stood, locket clenched in his fist, at the end of what appeared to be the couch Harry was resting on, Hermione was beside Michael with her wand out, while Ron was holding the Sword of Gryffindor on the side farthest from Riddle. It took a moment to register both the odd set-up around him and the pain that seemed to consume him all at once as he let out a yell and Michael leaned over him to hold him down, his green eyes staring straight into Harry’s. 

“Harry, you’ve been splinched, don’t move. Hermione’s applied the essence of dittany; it’s going to be okay. Harry, it’s not that bad, I promise. It’s just a deep gash, so it feels bad, but I promise, your arm is still there. Look at me, only me. Focus on me.” Harry let the voice of his Uncle surround him, his muscles relaxing as the pain in his arm lessened considerably. He could feel where the small droplets had hit his wound and with each one came the feeling of skin trying to thread itself back together. He would have to give Ron more credit in the future for all that he’d been through, because, from what Michael was describing, this was nothing compared to what Ron had experienced. Harry returned his focus to his Uncle’s eyes, which were so uncannily like his mother’s that he nearly let out a sob, and, as if sensing Harry’s distress, Michael lifted his arm that was holding Harry down off the boy and placed his hand on Harry’s forehead, as if to placate him. 

Minutes passed before the pain, lessened considerably by the essence of dittany, seemed to be the last thing on his mind. Harry, with the help of Michael and Hermione, sat up to assess where they were and suss out what had happened while he had, once again, been unconscious. 

“So, what all happened?” Harry tried for a light tone, but it came out tired and weak. A hand on his back, that of Michael’s, gave him some support, though, and he tried to focus on staying aware and awake. No matter that he’d only met his uncle an hour or so ago, there was a familiar warmth that seemed to emanate from him like it had from Sirius. A close connection that he felt with his friends had already formed with Michael, as if he had always been in Harry’s life, and the hand upon his back was accepted with an ease of trust Harry hadn’t felt since before the war.

“You-Know-Who showed up, Harry.” Hermione supplied the answer, though her eyes were staring directly at Ron, who seemed to be incredibly uncomfortable holding the Sword of Gryffindor away from the Locket of Slytherin. Riddle flinched at the title ‘You-Know-Who’, but remained as far away as necessary from Ron and the sword, his fist clenched around the chain of the locket.

“He must have read my mind. I should have put up my Occlumency wall right away, but it was such an unpleasant surprise, your little brother showing up.” Michael side-glanced at Riddle, who grimaced and his hand clenched on both his wand and the locket. The locket hissed audibly, seeming to find familiarity with the elder Riddle child. Harry tensed, his eyes immediately finding the darker green one’s of Riddle, both of their eyes widening.

“He was looking for you. Your brother wants to find you.” It spoke, the piece of Voldemort’s soul speaking in Parseltongue. Riddle’s hand released it immediately, but it would not drop from his hand, instead it clenched, coiling like a snake in response. James grit his teeth, the chain coiling itself into his skin through his clothes, his other hand going to try and pull at the chain, which continued to dig in to his arm. The locket hissed again, this time unintelligibly and the edges of the locket dug deep into Riddle’s skin, drawing blood even as the man’s arm became an unhealthy purple color.

“REALEASE ME!” James screamed in Parseltongue as Michael leapt forward, grabbing at the Horcrux trying to pull it away from the other man’s hand. At the command it released James, falling into Michael’s hands, which gripped it tightly and threw it to the other side of the room.

“RON!” Hermione shouted as he lifted the Sword of Gryffindor and swung it like he would a gnome, though he kept it in his hands instead of throwing it. The sword hit its mark, slicing the locket into two as a cloud of dark magic broke from its confines. An unearthly howl and the visage of Voldemort sprang forth, James throwing himself back, into Michael as it shot towards him. 

“Protego!” Michael’s voice rose above the howl, his wand flicking out from his sleeve and into his hand so quickly Hermione barely had time to react herself. The same spell seemed to envelope all of them, even separating itself to protect Ron, shielding all of them from the attempt at an attack. The dark cloud dispersed almost as soon as it had exploded, breaking apart and disappearing. The house rattled with the force of the spell, but quieted immediately as Michael let down his shield, immediately hoisting James to a standing position before turning to Ron, a wide grin on his face.

“Good show, Weasley! Excellent swing!” Michael removed his hand from Riddle’s back and stepped forward, towards Ron, slapping the redhead on the shoulder in a friendly manner. Ron’s mouth broke into a grin that mirrored Michael’s and he looked to Harry and Hermione who both stared at him, both shock and admiration written on their faces. They both stood, Hermione rushing over to hug him as Harry wavered, his vision dotting as he felt his blood pressure drop. A hand reached out, tentatively, and grasped his uninjured arm, holding him up, even though the hand itself seemed weak in comparison. Blood stained Harry’s sweater as Riddle held him up, but it was from the hand that had been torn by the locket’s hold. A small, thankful smile grew on Harry’s face and he nodded, his vision clearing and his body steadying itself. Riddle nodded in return and let his hand drop, holding it meekly at his side, not letting it touch anything else. 

“Blimey, Ron, that was brilliant!” 

“Well done, Ron!” 

“Top swing, there, old boy.” Ron blushed scarlet, even at James’s compliment, which sounded something out of an old Sherlockian tome. 

“Right, so, where are we?” Ron was the first to the question, finding a reason to divert the attention to Michael, who stood in between Riddle and the Trio. He raised his brow questioningly before opening his arms wide and grinning once more.

“This is my home near the top of the world. We’re in the Scottish Highlands.” At this, Harry’s eyes lit up and he slowly began to study their surroundings. Michael’s home felt cozy and warm, even though it was dimly lit and seemingly much larger than just the sitting room (if the fact that there was a sitting room wasn’t enough proof). The fireplace was roaring with a magical fire, the paintings were all conversing amongst themselves, and there was even a large Snowy Owl perched in the corner of the room, seemingly asleep from its position. Harry felt his heart ache as he remembered Hedwig, but brushed it aside as best he could.

“Do you like him? I bought him after Dumbledore relayed to me that you had received Hedwig from Hagrid for your eleventh birthday. His name is Nasir.” At the mention of his name the owl’s eyes opened and he let out a deep hoot in appreciation before flying to his master and landing on his shoulder. A smile crept onto Harry’s face and Michael turned in his direction, letting Nasir walk down his arm to Harry’s uninjured shoulder. 

“He’s not too heavy, but if he becomes a burden, just ask him to politely return to his roost. He’ll understand.” Michael spoke, a smile replacing the grin on his face as Harry accepted the owl’s weight and Nasir hooted happily at his new acquaintance. 

“He’ll show you around, he knows his way.” Harry furrowed his brow at Michael’s words, but Hermione interjected before he could question his uncle.

“Come on, Harry, let’s get situated so we can plan out our next move and maybe get a good night’s sleep for once?” Hermione smiled, her eyes shifting from Riddle to Evans as she placed a hand on both Ron and Harry’s back, ushering them forward.

“Brilliant! I’ve missed not sleeping in a tent!” Ron spoke as they left the room, the sounds of their footsteps fading the farther they retreated on the mahogany floor. Michael turned to James, his wand in hand as he moved closer to the other man, gesturing for the other man to place his injured hand in Michael’s. James nodded; wincing as he placed his palm to Michael’s and followed Michael to the couch which Harry had recently vacated. They both sat down, though James all but collapsed into the cushions, and Michael furrowed his brows at the pain etched across James’s face.

“Hell of a failsafe that bloody locket has.” Michael dryly commented, forcing himself to turn his attention to the hand nearly destroyed before him. The locket had done decent damage, managing to slice James’s wrist and palm and leave deep purple marks that closely resembled the chain around his hand and around his wrist. Further investigating revealed what looked to be scratches on James’s knuckles, from when the chain as it had begun to snake around the man’s wrist.

“I wonder if it still works…” James absent mindedly spoke, his eyes unfocused, even as he stared at their combined hands, the usual piercing green glazing over as he seemed to lose himself in his head.

“Episkey.” Michael murmured, his eyes focused solely on the wounds again as the skin began to wind itself back together and the bruises started to lighten considerably. Michael slipped his wand back up his sleeve, placing a hand on James’s shoulder gently, the pressure he exerted light enough to gain the other man’s attention but not cause him pain. James startled slightly under the touch, but smiled close-lipped at Michael, his eyelids drooping to a half-lidded position, his irises meeting Michael’s through his lashes. 

“Thank you, my friend.” James’s voice was soft, the timber that usual ran through it seeming to have faded from him as they sat, reprieved of running from his younger brother.

A companionable silence fell over them, until minutes later Michael really began to study James and found the other man nearly unconscious as he sat, his head slowly beginning to droop as he nodded off, only to jerk awake and then repeat the process moments later. Shaking his head, the blonde man pulled the other slowly towards him until James’s head rested against his shoulder comfortably before letting himself also slip into unconsciousness.

* * *

“Thank you Nasir, for the tour.” Hermione had taken over carrying of the snowy owl, allowing Nasir to perch on her forearm. The owl hooted in response before stretching it’s wings to signify it’s intention to return to the roost it had inhabited before, which Hermione obliged him by lowering her arm and then thrusting it in the air to give him a good lift off. The owl fluttered in the air for several seconds before taking off easily towards the sitting room, gliding down the stairwell and leaving the Trio to themselves. As soon as the owl was gone Hermione turned to Harry and Ron, her expression changing to that of a furrowed brow and clear suspicion from that of happy and lighthearted. 

“Right, we’ve got several things to talk about. Number one.” The boys looked to each other, both suddenly afraid of the tone that Hermione was taking with them. Harry felt uneasy for a millisecond, running through all the things that Hermione might be suspicious of.

His Uncle was number one on the list.

“Number one?” Ron gulped, his voice cracking.

“Yes. Number one……which room is mine.” Hermione smirked, her hands crossing in a mockingly stern manner.

“Blimey Hermione, I thought we were going to talk about—.” Harry started, but she cut him off, a hand raised to placate him.

“We’ll talk about that once we’re all sorted out, but first, we have to choose where we’re going to sleep. I choose the one with the largest bookshelf—for obvious reasons.” Hermione moved past the boys, her smirk from before still in place as she walked straight to her chosen room, ignoring the other’s jests and protests before she closed the door in their faces. With an appreciative glance, Hermione ran towards the bed and dove in, ignoring her beaded bag slipping from her shoulder as she flopped onto the comfy mattress. 

An appreciative ‘hmm’ fell from her lips, before she fell into the dream world…

* * *

An elderly woman, who Hermione was sure looked like a much older version of Professor Trawlney stood before her, the woman’s shrewd face seeming to contort in her dream as shadows danced across her face. Hermione gasped, scrambling back from the woman, even as the woman’s bony fingers clutched at the young witch’s shoulder, keeping her in place. Panic began to rise in Hermione’s chest as she kicked out at the woman, digging her heels into the ground below her to try and push herself away, but she didn’t budge a millimeter. 

“Two brothers, one trapped in time.  
Dead they should be,  
They live in the world of those of pure flux.  
One will perish,  
One with regain his time,  
And only family will bring him back from death.  
Heartbreak will come in the most unusual place,  
And lines will be crossed.  
Look to the forest,  
Look to the sky,  
For when it darkens,  
The battle will begin.”

The old woman’s voice took on that of a frightening rasp, as if the rattle of death had stuck in her throat. Frightened, Hermione stilled, her body shaking as she watched the old woman morph, her skin peeling to reveal marble-like, smooth skin. Slowly, as if giving Hermione time to adjust, the woman’s face slowly morphed into none-other than He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named’s.

In pure, unadulterated fright, Hermione screamed.

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: I did a lot of research for this, I know there are a few holes, but we'll just put putty over them and fill them. Yes, that's what we'll do.


End file.
